


The Englishman JACK

by Imnotwolverine



Category: Original Work
Genre: 1956, F/M, Murder Mystery, Paris (City), Rated For Violence, mobster, tuscany
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 21:35:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29907417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imnotwolverine/pseuds/Imnotwolverine
Summary: It’s 1956 and the hills of Tuscany are overrun with gang violence. With a son of the Maniari mobsters gone missing, investigator Jack Walker steps in to help out one friend, while avenging another.





	1. The name is Jack

Lipstick stains and cigarette buds were all that was left of her. The woman who made him into a man. The room he stood in now felt strangely unwelcoming. Like he was a stain himself. Black and bold in this lavish palace of beige and gold, on the top floor of the Parisian Grande.

The smog of cigar smoke and traffic jams was rising up through the ceiling-height windows, starting yet another day in this crazy paradise called Paris. The city had somehow always felt pompous to him, just like this apartment. Buffed gold furniture, heavy beige curtains, the scent of patchouli and sex lingering deep in its essence. _It was the french way_ , she would have said. But she was no longer here. And he was not here to stay.

Thumbing over the precious jewels that had once graced her stretched out earlobes and wrinkled swan neck, he remembered the time he had accidentally teared one of these off. She had simply laughed at his eagerness. But he had felt great shame, crawling around on the beige carpet to look for one of the missing pearls.

_I’ll buy a new one, my boy._

_My boy._ Years had passed since then. Since that moment. And she had made her boy into a man.

All he now had to do, was avenge her.

–

It was the same thing each and every morning, it seemed. The metal bullet shells chinked as they were cleaned away by the butler on the next terrace. With heavy strokes of the broom the morning silence was broken. But the world didn’t seem to mind. All was quiet. The birds were hushed, the sun was struggling and wisps of mist drifted lazily over the rolling Tuscan hills. Like the Italians themselves, nothing here seemed to be eager to get started with the new day.

Even the three bodyguards that were stationed on the far edges of the porch seemed to be more asleep than awake. Dressed in their sharp black suits they rose from the mists like great Greek statues, squared shoulders turned to stare out in the distance. What they were looking at exactly, was anybody’s guess; for the next 10 miles or so, the land was pretty much entirely owned by Bunny’s family, the Maniari’s.

Sighing quietly, Bunny sat back in her black and white cushioned chair, making the mists curl away for a moment. The northern porch hardly had the best view; a large wall hid most of the gorgeous landscape. But it was all she was allowed in terms of “freedom” as she had her breakfast session out here in the morning chill. As usual she was dressed to a tee, floral blue sundress and pretty magazine-style hair indicating she had been up at least a few hours already.

She was so very different from her family, who wouldn’t wake before the sun was high and the remnants of last night’s “hunting games” were cleaned and cleared. In fact she was.. _bored._ Was a woman of her station even allowed to be bored? _Here be Bunny, the ridiculously rich and perfectly cared for mobster misses!_ Bunny, the woman who had it all but wanted even more! She snickered to herself. Would the wax melt off her wings if she too would try to touch the sun? Just out of mere curiosity whether it would hurt? Would she drown in the seas and for once be done with this? This..this.. _.ugh_.

Knowing she was no Icarus by any means - it was the lack of waxen wings on her back, she figured, she flicked back some of her brown locks. The men who stood on the far ends of the porch seemed truly dazed today. A rough night perhaps? Having finished her last bite of marmalade on toast - also so very un-italian, she tapped the ash of her cigarette onto the ashtray next to her plate.

_Would they notice if she’d fly off?_ It was a good question to pose in a world where men turned a blind eye on so many things. Squinting her eyes, Bunny took another long suck of the ashen delight between her fingertips. These men truly did seem blind. Or at least sleepy. Heads were hanging slightly limp and from the soft beeps coming from Number One’s walkie talkie, it was clear he was definitely not paying attention.

Her father had once said that these men were stationed near her for safekeeping. But Bunny knew better. She knew they were just as much here to keep her from running off. Away from this golden cage with its marble floors and far too expensive crystal chandeliers. But these poor men couldn’t help it either. They probably had played a late night of poker with Big - something you simply couldn’t win even if you had all the good cards in your hand. Life simply wasn’t fair like that. _Not here at least._

Quietly slipping from her chair, her dress brushing through the mists, Bunny snuck back inside - to get out.

\--

_These dresses are only getting shorter, huh?_ With a devious little smirk Jack settled back in the cushioned airplane seat. He watched as one of the flight attendants shuffled by with her demure little smile. The plane was about to take off, heavy engines rumbling on the taxi strip. But first, he’d let one of these sky angels do the honours. And, looking up, apparently the lady of choice had come to her calling. Italian presumably, he saw her lips curl in a semi-flirty smile.

‘Good afternoon.’ - Her French accent was horrid. ‘May I please assist you with your seatbelt?’ She was already leaning over before Jack could object. Not that he would. Settling back a little more, he let her tiny hands clutch around the metal clasp. It was a challenge to get the thing tugged around his luggy hips. But he didn’t protest as she bent over a little more. If anything, he let the opportune moment run its course as the taxiing plane rolled over a pesky little bump. Enough for him to bump into her in consequence, the little accident followed up by a polished act of surprise on his end. A warm, steadying hand on her hip was all it took to turn the woman into a blushing, flustered mess. She chuckled and apologised with that same awful little accent.

Not that he cared. With a suave, calm smile he settled back, thanking her in perfect Italian. And with that the deal was sealed; he had ensured that this flight would be just as delightful as this woman’s dress implied..

_You know what they say. Can’t let a good thing get away._

_\--_

‘Found anything?’

The two men stepped into the beams of the car’s headlights. The night around them was muddled black, heavy rain clouds obscuring the skies. It was one of those moments where a seeing man could feel blind. Though these men didn’t seem to be concerned with the dark. Sharing a handshake, muddied feet slushing in the red earth, they greeted one another. One of them showed a slight limp.

‘No -’ The limping man coughed raggedly. ‘Nothing.’

‘And the footprints?’

‘Dead end.’ His cough continued and he spat on the ground, bloody mucus seeping into the crimson soil.

‘Brother..’

‘We’ll find ‘em. Just give me more time.’

The other wished to object, but a soft crack in the bushes on their left disturbed them. Someone was there. An intruder. Hidden in that pesky veil of night. With a grumble the healthy man grabbed for his gun. But the limping men stopped him.

‘Brother? Let me..!’

A church bell rang in the distance, silencing them. Twelve times the heavy copper tolled, announcing midnight, and the end of their fleeting meeting.

‘Whomever it was, we can’t chase ‘em.’ The limping man sighed. ‘And rain’s comin’.’ He coughed again and grasped the other man’s sleeve. ‘Let’s go. Ghosts aren’t worth bullets.’

\--

Was there something like the thrill of _being_ chased? Bunny clutched the steering wheel of her trusty blue cake tin on wheels, squealing with excitement as it slipped in the puddles of last night’s thunderstorm.

Much like the weather - the air now clean and fresh, she felt a renewed energy in her bones. This could very well be the time she’d succeed. The time she’d finally get away.

She had omitted all the non-essentials. She had learned by now that it was key to not act suspicious. Learn the patterns and only then take the leap.

The last time had failed catastrophically. Apparently she had been too obvious with her packed suitcase at the ready. Not even a lie about a personal safety plan with all the gang violence going on was enough to dissuade her father from her intentions. She could still feel the ache in her buttocks from the spanking she had received.

So yes. She had learned. She had learned to be more inventive. And now here she was. Smirking. With a sideglance she looked to the backseat of her trusty little Fiat. A small designer bag lay there discarded. Barely noticeable to the male eye, but packing much more than just the usual feminine essentials. In fact this bag held none of the usual make-up items and hair spray. It held passports, roadmaps, money and a well-thought out escape plan. She was ready. She was. _Right?_

Clutching the steering wheel a little tighter, she looked back at the road. And just in time. With a panicked foot on the brakes she slid through the mud, barely managing to evade the unamused looking vintager who had just stepped onto the road after inspecting his vineyard.

‘Fuck.’ Bunny muttered quietly, keeping the slower speed long enough to raise an apologising hand at the man. It was the new one. The new vintager, the other one deceased some years ago. The other wine makers had refused to take on this piece of land. And none would say it aloud, but the reasoning was simple; it was the only small trip of land that separated the Maniari estate from the Luchesse estate. Two mobster powerhouses trying their best to overrule the other; you simply didn’t want to be in the middle of that.

And now Bunny had nearly killed the one person who had dared to take on the challenge.

Trying her best to calm her racing heart, Bunny looked back to the road ahead of her. She couldn’t make a mistake now. Not when she was so close to getting out. So close to freedom. Because that’s what she wanted, right? She was ready, right? Clutching the steering wheel she pushed the gas pedal a little deeper again, forgetting for a hot minute to look back. And in doing so, she missed one essential little cue in the shape of a rushing car behind her.

The thrill of the chase was back.

\--

Jack gritted his teeth. Not even the lovebites in his neck or the linger of sweet perfume could calm his nerves. He was hours away from Florence. Hours away from pretty city women, good coffee and proper infrastructure - the roads all red mud around here.

Jack was also not sure whether this rental he had received from that car dealer was set up for failure, or that it was just misfortune that had killed the engine. Either way: he was stuck. Stuck in an idyllic picture of green winelands covered in a thick blanket of ethereal mists. A dreamscape, the likes he had seen on postcards sent by his good friend Luigi. Those cards had often described trivial things, until a week ago, when Jack received a request. And if it weren’t for their friendship, it would be for his own devices that Jack found this trip to Tuscany to be a perfect way to spend some time. One plane ride, car drive and engine failure he was here. Stuck as a bug in a rug. Or in this case stuck with a car in the mud.

‘Fuck.’ He grumbled, turning off the radio that was bleating on about some local seismic activity. He wished right now he had accepted Luigi’s offer to have him chauffeured to the estate. But Jack was a proud man, and a man of resolve. Besides, he enjoyed driving in most cases. It gave a sense of freedom, of power. Engines rumbling, the windows rolled down.

But that would be for another time. First he had to find a new means of transportation.

Swinging open the door he stepped out into the morning mists, nostrils flaring out to breath in the biting cold that licked around his heated skin. Perhaps he shouldn’t have worn his fine calf leather shoes, he mused, looking down at the mud splatters as they painted a red dotted work of art over the recently polished noses.

Gritting his teeth again he cued a cigarette to his lips and turned around the back of the car, picking up his suitcase and hat before starting his way down to the nearest village.

\--

Bunny knew she had failed when she turned the roundabout. With a flash of black and white the sleek suit of Number Four was hard to miss from behind his steering wheel. And he was far too close for comfort. Especially with him driving the Mercedes-Benz, its engine rumbling like a dark horse to match his steely gaze.

Taking a swift turn, Bunny changed plans. Straight roads were omitted and made way for the local Saturday market, her car soon disappearing in the hustle and bustle of cows, chickens, cabbages and coffee.

Nervous hands thrummed on her steering wheel as she moved at a snail’s pace through the meandering crowds. It was terribly busy, and that made the market both a blessing and a curse all in one. Old nans with hunchbacks, young children playing soccer, farmers marketing their produce; any other time this would have been a lovely place to be. But right now Bunny had no time to wait for the cows before her to cross the street. And so with a quick flick of the wrist she escaped her car, bag in her hand as her swift feet zipped past the meaty backsides of two brown cows before she vanished into the misty morning mayhem.

Her heartbeat was racing. Fluttering like a little bird caught in too small a cage. Sweaty hands clutched onto the bag in her arms as she apologised to a leather faced man she bumped into, his large chest already puffing up before he turned to scold her for not “using her godgiven eyes”.

‘Scusi!’ She scampered away, little mules clicking on the paved village square. She had made sure that, though practical, her clothes wouldn’t have raised any suspicion on her family’s part. And with her always wearing something rather fashionable, today was no exception. Her calf-length blue summer dress waved around her legs as she brushed past the flower stall sales men, their hands waving around in the air to catch her attention.

‘Miss! Miss! Why the hurry?! Good morning, good morning!’

She wished to throw them a wistful smile, but her eye caught on to a blur of a neat suit on the other side of the square instead. Another mobster? Really?! Keeping her green eyes transfixed on the man who was trying to chat up with one of the salesmen, she noted he was different from the others. Brown suit covered up to his calves in mud and with his handsome face contorting in agony, she saw him turn away from the salesman. She had never seen this man before. He looked foreign, his skin far less tan than most Italians and his eyes a shade of Mediterranean blue. He could very well be one of the American movie hunks she used to fawn over. Cary Grant, Humprey Bogart. His slicked back dark hair and chiseled cheeks by no means inferior to the legends of the silver screens.

But there was no silver screen here. And Bunny had no time for funny business. She had to figure out what to do. Go home and act like nothing happened? Try again later? Or get out on foot and hope that her father’s henchmen wouldn’t use their bloodhound like noses to track her down. 

Feeling cold shivers run up her spine she wished to grasp for her bag, only to realise it was no longer hanging down her hip. There went the last of her plans. Washed down the drain, like the fish scales washed by the fishmonger behind the tall, handsome stranger. Who, strangely enough, had disappeared.

‘Good morning signora.’ A warm honeyed voice brushed past the shell of her ear and without looking, Bunny darted off. Did Number Four get backup? Or was it one of them? Fuck-fuck-fuck. With hasted feet she pushed past a group of women doing their daily shopping, disturbed eyes looking her up and down before they stepped aside for the mobster daughter’s pursuer.

‘GET OFF ME!’ Bunny exclaimed when she felt a hand on her arm, her hands raising up to throw in a punch if need be. But it wasn’t Number Four who stared back at her. It were heavy dark eyebrows, risen near comically onto the handsome stranger’s face.

‘I am..profusely sorry milady! I…’ Blue eyes blinked at her before he reached out a familiar item to her: her bag. Bunny exhaled. It was just her bag. Her bag! _Her.._ She snapped her eyes back at him. _Who was this?_

‘Thanks.’ She grabbed for the bag, only to see his hand wrap a little more tightly around the tan leather.

‘Wait a moment…’ He narrowed his eyes and terror was back in Bunny’s bones. _Fuck. Was he with them?!_ She tugged a little more fiercely on the bag, but it didn’t budge. _Oh please let go! Please let go!_ She pulled and pulled, but she was no match to the hidden muscles beneath the man’s well-cut suit. He smirked.

‘Are you..the Maniari sister?’ His accent finally clicked; foreign indeed. British, most likely. Was it the man her brother had mentioned to be visiting soon? Frowning, Bunny looked back at the man, only to realize another two suits had popped up in the corner of her vision. She had to make haste. Now.

‘Follow me and find out.’ She breathed, using her momentum to pull her bag free from his hand before running in the direction of a narrow alleyway between the houses. Fresh laundry was hanging from lines that crossed above her head, casting the street in a misty play of shadows, waving over her escaping form.

As half expected, the man continued to pursue her, muddied soles following her in close proximity.

‘Where are we going?’ His voice remained level despite the exertion and Bunny cast him a side glance. He jogged easily behind her, eyes looking up and around the narrow street. She wasn’t sure whether he was nervous about onlookers, or just admiring the change of scenery.

With a sharp turn they entered an even smaller alleyway. But just as she was about to make another right, she saw men rush past. And from the looks of it they were most definitely looking for her. Sharp suits, eager eyes. Within an instant she had pressed her back against the wall, making the stranger half bump into her.

‘In a bit of trouble?’ He smiled. ‘Do tell me it’s not a stolen bag, for…-’

‘Shut it.’ Nervously looking around herself, Bunny decided to keep heading straight, passing through another alleyway where a few women were hanging out carpets to give a pounding. Dust circled up in the air, offering a perfect getaway for their retreating feet.

Some streets later Bunny found herself back at the other side of the square. And if she wasn’t mistaken, her car wouldn’t be far from here. With nimble feet she moved through the crowds that were returning home after their shopping. Arms full of fresh fish, bread and vegetables; it was a challenge to not knock anything out of hands as she zipped past.

Staying hidden in the shade of the narrow passage, she eyed the street where her car was left in the middle of the road. No suits were seen, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there. Over her shoulder, the stranger watched along with her. Was he really not with them? Or was this just play pretend and would he be there to push her into their arms at the opportune time? Feeling her heart thump in her ears, Bunny pressed back into his chest, wishing to back away. And thankfully he did so too, sidestepping so they could remain hidden in the shadows of the buildings surrounding them.

‘Bunny, right?’ He whispered, looking at Bunny’s mildly flushed face. She was a beauty with her brown haired bangs and sparkling green eyes. And a feisty one too. With a scowl she looked back at him.

‘And you are?’

‘A tall dark handsome stranger?’ He tried, smiling. She rolled her eyes quietly and looked back at the square. As half expected one of her father’s henchmen had stepped out from one of the alleyways, shaking his head at someone who didn’t wear a suit. _They were everywhere_. Why had she even been so stupid to try and get out? Who did she think she was?

‘God have mercy.’ She whispered, shaking her head in defeat. This might just have very well been the last time she’d be allowed to even be outside. _Here be Bunny, the mobster misses who became a prisoner in her own home. Woopti-fucking-doo._

‘May I suggest something?’ Jack eyed the little blue car that was left alone as the mobster henchmen ran into another street to continue their search.

‘Shoot.’

‘Charming woman you are.’ He teased.

‘Don’t push it.’ She looked back into his blue eyes, expectantly, waiting for him to dish up his idea.

‘I drive, you lay low and once at home you better have a really good excuse for your father.’

Bunny snarled. There went the last of her plans.

\--

‘Papa!’ Bunny kissed her father’s cheek with perhaps a touch too much enthusiasm. Would he notice she was faking it?

‘Bunny, dear.’ Augusto leaned back a little to brush a loving thumb over his daughter’s face. He seemed quite oblivious to whatever had just transpired.

‘Sleep well?’ She asked, stepping back so her father could move to his desk where a recently lit cigar was waiting. Thick smoke curled up to the high ceiling of the dark, wood panelled office. And from the half-closed shutters and slow movements of Augusto it was clear he was having a particularly rough morning. Or hangover. Or perhaps both.

Waiting in the door opening, Jack shifted on his feet. He was painfully aware of the disheveled state of his shoes and pants. And all that running may have very well ruined his hair too. Keeping his hat in the crook of his arm he looked around the room. So this was it. The lion’s lair. The heart of the operation. Jack was just about to be addressed by the mobster lord who had settled back in his desk chair, when rushed footsteps echoed through the smooth marble hall. The mobster lord frowned and looked up and over Jack’s shoulder, where a heavy breathing bodyguard shot an exasperated look at Bunny.

‘YOU!’ The man wanted to step past Jack, but the Englishman was smooth in “accidentally” obstructing the doorway, eyebrows raising in feigned shock.

‘Apologies!’ Jack bowed slightly, making the bodyguard scowl even more. _Apparently more people were having particularly rough mornings_. Jack smiled inwardly and watched as Bunny stepped back to side with her father, her eyes betraying just how nervous she was despite her cool facade. 

‘She was out, boss.’ The man pointed a reproachful finger at the brunette. ‘You little devil –’

Augusto inhaled sharply, face souring. ‘Out?’ He looked up and Bunny flinched. Augusto was an impressive looking man. Thin silver streaks framed his rugged looking face and his eyes flamed with passion, madness or both. Standing up with a pained groan he looked down at her, her feet wishing to shuffle back, but bumping into a small garbage bin instead.

That’s what she was to her father in this moment. Garbage. His face melted into complete and utter displeasure. ‘And what, daughter sweet, were you doing.. **out?**! HMM? Wasn’t I clear?!’

‘Papa..I just..I wanted to –’

‘NONE OF THAT.’ Augusto inhaled from the cigar between his fingertips and let the smoke fume out through his nostrils. He looked like a raging bull, eyes wild as he looked back at the bodyguard, then Jack. Jack looked back at Augusto with level eyes, keeping them trained on the mobster lord with an unfazed expression.

‘And you?’

‘Your daughter was kindly enough to pick me up when I had car trouble.’ Jack stepped forward and bowed confidently. ‘Jack Wa–’

‘Are you a fool?!’

Jack raised back up and saw the mobster had turned back to his daughter, making Bunny shrivel smaller and smaller every passing second. She shook her head.

‘How..ugh..how are we ever to find you a husband? This insolence! You are just like your mother. You women you!’ He gripped Bunny’s face between digging fingertips and studied her for a second, snarling: ‘I’ll deal with you later.’ He let go, leaving small red marks on her skin as she rushed past Jack and outside of the room. Jack swallowed. He knew that Luigi’s family were mobsters. He had never cared much for it. All rich people seemed to have their flaws. Their peculiarities. And he was a friend of the family right? But perhaps that had just now been completely and utterly ruined.

‘And you must be Walker.’

Jack quickly returned his attention to Augusto. ‘I am.’ Jack nodded solemnly, keeping a straight face as the bodyguard turned on his heel and looked Jack up and down. His eyes lingered especially long on his sodden trousers, red mud dried like bloody splatters on the brown wool fabric around his calves.

Oh, how he wished he could have changed into a different suit before meeting Augusto. First impressions mattered, you see. 

\--

‘Do not be nervous.’ Lucia smiled, squeezing her fingers around his bicep. ‘It’s just men. Stupid, silly, rambunctious men. They wouldn’t know a good thing even if it hit them straight in the face.’ Her silvery eyes glanced over at the bellboy who kept a straight face, staring in the direction of the elevator doors as they zipped up to the 11th floor of the Parisian Grand.

‘I’m not nervous.’ Jack looked down at her. All silvery haired class wrapped in a black satin gown. She was breathtaking. ‘Not for them at least. I’m nervous for..you.’

‘Me?’ She chuckled softly. ‘Oh sweet darling. You do not realize what a gem you are. The men in my life never cared for their women the way you do.’ She sighed and looked down at the ring on her finger. Wrapped around the smooth black tuxedo jacket, it sparkled like a star in nightly skies. She missed the one who gave that ring to her. But he was gone. And were it not for Jack, she’d feel rather alone - and terribly bored.

‘And your husband?’

‘Well. What can I say. He was a man. I loved him. I fought him. I hated him. And then he died.’

Jack swallowed as the elevator’s bell dinged, signalling they had arrived at Lucia’s suite. The place where he’d meet her family - and perhaps in a way become part of her family too.

‘Remember to be better than them my boy.’

‘It’s Jack, madame.’

‘I know, I know.’ She laughed and the doors slid open. Her fingers tapped comfortingly on his arm before they strode out into her palace of gold and glitter. ‘But you’re still my boy…Jack.’


	2. Eye of the bull

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack meets the Maniari family, gets threatened and flirted with and remembers why he truly is here: avenging Lucia.

The free chair by the head of the table made it painfully clear why Jack was here. Alfonso, the last of the Maniari’s living sons, had gone missing. Eight days had it been apparently. And as the family chewed on their evening meal, Alfonso’s vacant chair burned into Jack’s peripheral vision. Had he been right about the clues he had found after Lucia’s death? Did this family truly have something to do with..her? Or had his recent troubles shaken his otherwise keen mind and sharp eye? Also; if he was right, then was Alfonso truly missing? Or was it a ruse? By the calm looks of the family members - all except for Augusto at the head of table - it nearly would seem so.

‘You know I could have picked you up.’ Luigi mumbled, chewing greedily on his linguine. Luigi had become significantly chunkier in the years they had been apart. And seeing the bitesizes of the second oldest Maniari, it wasn’t truly a surprise how _that_ happened.

‘And forgo a nice ride in..no..eh.. _through_..beautiful Italy?’ Jack’s Italian felt a little drowsy after a few glasses of wine. Even after years of practising with Lucia and Luigi, there were moments he could draw a full blank. Wine apparently didn’t help.

Luigi chuckled and shook his chubby cheeks. ‘Good thing you didn’t ride anything IN-to anything.’ 

He side-eyed his sister who silently shot daggers his way. ‘Or it would have been a travesty to get her back in working order!’ Luigi’s voice echoed through the dark dining room, making Augusto look up. The mobster looked both posh and possesed, his heavy eyebrows throwing dark shades over his fallen cheeks. Despite his neat three-piece suit with red pocket square, he looked weak. Sickly. Mournful, maybe. But definitely not in the mood for Luigi’s rambling. With a deadly stare he quieted the table.

‘I sure hope you were speaking of..the car.’ He growled, eyes slowly moving towards Bunny who averted her gaze.

‘Scusi.’ Luigi gulped, reverently lowering his head towards his father. The man scoffed softly and returned his agitation towards his wife who sat on his right. She was a dream of a bygone era. Olive tan skin, heavy make-up and a glass of wine and a cigarette just about glued to her red nailed fingertips. By the way she evaded her husband’s gaze, it was clear why the family had been splintered for so many years. Luigi had never spoken about the family bonds, but it didn’t take an expert to tell that the signora didn’t want to be here. With a long inhale of her thin cigarette she looked back at Jack, his eyes having to look away before he’d be dead before bed. It also didn’t take an expert to know that this mobster lord would kill for anyone who touched or looked at his family the wrong way.

‘Don’t worry. They never get killed on the first day.’ Luigi chuckled.

‘Wha–?’ Before Jack could whisper back, Augusto’s voice silenced him.

‘Settled in well, English?’ The man tilted his head slightly, making the shadows glide with a glacial pace over his fallen cheeks.

‘Yes. Thank you for having me. It’s wonderful to –’

‘You’ll join my research team tomorrow.’ The mobster lord chewed his lip like the idea left a bad taste. ‘Bunch of fuckwits.’

Again Jack wanted to open his mouth, but the mobster lord already averted his eyes, looking to the other Maniari son at the table instead. Big. A name befitting the wide shouldered, menacing looking man that very much took after his father. He must be 22 or so, Jack thought. It was also near surprising to think that Big was the youngest of the family. Younger even than Bunny, the young woman whom we had met this morning at the market. That same Bunny looked but a shell of herself in the presence of her family, seated at the far end of the table. Her eyes were red with tears and from the awkward shuffle of her hips, it was clear that she tried to alleviate the ache of one hell of a spanking.

‘What?!’ Bunny caught Jack staring before he realised it himself. _She surely was a feisty one, huh?_

Jack cleared his throat, deciding to change the topic. ‘Quite a wonderful pasta. You do not find such fine cuisine in the Northern …’ Jack rolled his hand in the air, looking around the table as he waited for the words to come. But the wine and long travels had gotten to him. His tongue was tied and Big smirked.

‘Cat got your tongue, English?’

‘His name’s Jack, _Biggiebig_.’ Luigi corrected, rolling some wine in his glass, pinky finger lifted up. Jack was close to discomfort.

‘Enough with you. And enough with that!’ Augusto pointed at Big’s hand that was picking at the label of a wine bottle in semi-boredom. The youngest quickly sat up and brushed the label back in place - he instantly seemed nervous at his father’s reproach. 

This was also the moment Bunny opened her mouth for the first time in hours. ‘Sexually frustrated?’ She pouted innocently at Big, who gasped at her audacity.

‘Papa! Would you hear?!’

Bunny continued: ‘What? Want one of my magazines to jerk off to? I’ve got plenty if you want one.’

‘BUNNY!’ Augusto bashed a flat hand on the table, silencing the two. Meanwhile Jack caught the amused eyebrow quirk of the signora as she first looked at Bunny, then Jack. With a languid inhale she watched the family bicker, everyone forgetting about Jack’s lacking words and reddened cheekbones. With a quick gulp of wine he threw a glance at Luigi who rolled his eyes.

‘Same old.’ He sighed, watching as Bunny stormed off. Augusto was about to call after her when the signora intervened. A long hand curled around the mobster’s hairy hand, calming him.

‘Let her be.’ Her voice was heavy and sultry.

‘Love, you do not understand. She cannot be excused for this insolence! She’s a grown woman, she’s..-’

‘Of course you do not understand. You were never there for her!’ The signora shot a mildly bored look at Augusto before she lit a new cigarette. The small curl of smoke coming from its tip perfectly mimicked the steam that was about to fume from Augusto’s annoyed face.

‘WOMAN. Do you hear yourself?! Do you not appreciate the things you have… This?’ He raised the silverware. ‘THIS?!’ He threw his plate on the ground with a loud bang, shards smashing all over the dark lacquered fishbone floor. Jack jumped, but the rest of the table seemed unfazed.

‘And you were planning on our 30th anniversary?’ The signora smirked, uncaring for Augusto’s tirade. ‘Bwa!’

‘Listen here you..’ Augusto leaned in closer, but the signora only looked away. ‘..you can only make things worse like this. You get that?’

‘Perfectly.’ The signora sent a fake warm smile his way befores she pushed her chair out. With the sound of crunching heels on the broken pieces of porcelain, she left.

The dining room remained quiet for a moment. Everyone waited for the footsteps of the signora to fade away, eyes searching for anything to look at but Augusto. By the door stood one of the bodyguards. Augusto’s personal bodyguard. Number One. A logsized man with his hands folded over his arms, face clean shaven and square. On the other side of the room stood one of the serving maids. _Girl._ Or whatever her actual name was.

Just as Jack made some well-meant, but still blush inducing eye contact with her, she was summoned by Augusto.

‘GIRL! Do your fucking job for once.’ Augusto snarled, and the small woman immediately jumped up, picking up the shards by hand before folding them in a napkin. With a heavy screech of the chair, Augusto raised up, near bashing the maid full in the head as she crouched down.

‘And you.’ He pointed a finger at Jack. ‘Waste my fucking time and you will get wasted. If I hear your name in the village. You’re done for. If I hear you doing funny stuff with my women. You’re done for. If you are..’ Augusto’s eyes shot to Luigi and with a dismissing grunt he sighed. ‘You get it?’

Jack nodded solemnly. ‘Why of course sir. Thank you for having me and I’ll..-’

Augusto had already left the room.

–

He was late. Jacques was never late. With a nervous tap on the table cloth, Jack looked over his shoulder. The Parisian streets outside were bustling with life. People passed by the emptied out café as they lived their day like any other. But for Jack the day was becoming more and more strange. Sitting inside this bistro with its neatly ironed white damask table cloths, he remained alone. Minutes passed. Coffee cups refilled. But still no sign of Jacques, his mentor.

It was especially curious since Jacques had missed lunch service, which very well must be the old man’s favourite part of the day. He was never up before the sun was high. But he was always on time. Living a life of wealth, mystery and wonder.

With another nervous thrum of his fingers, Jack watched as one of the few patrons inside the bar walked out to the toilets in the back. Also a woman. Skittish eyes looking back over a tweed jacketed shoulder before she disappeared behind one of the doors. _Had that been an invitation?_ Jack was never sure with these Parisians. They always seemed so flirty.

Looking up another woman appeared. A waitress, her hand moving to refill his coffee. With his large paw he covered the tiny espresso cup, thanking her. He decided that he had been here long enough, waiting for a man that was destined not to come.

Just as he was about to request the bill, an imposing shadow blocked the sun before the doorway. _Wait. Was that him? At long last? Had the man of the hour overslept himself?_ With a half bemused smile Jack returned his attention to the waitress who had started moving back towards the empty bar.

‘Madame? One more, please.’

With a swift turn she offered him a most beguiling little smile. ‘Two?’

She was faster than Jack in seeing that the new guest had taken a seat next to Jack. Jack smiled without so much as averting his gaze from the woman - ever trusting that it was just one very hungover Jacques. ‘Ye–’

‘Just water.’

That wasn’t Jacques’ voice. With a near comical spin of his head, Jack looked at one clean shaven man with glittering dark eyes and a weak jaw. _Who was this?_ Jack wished to object, but there was something imposing about this man. A certain confidence that perfectly matched his expensive though unusual high felt hat and wide brown trench coat.

The newcomer settled back in his seat and looked directly at Jack. ‘The coffee is terrible here you know.’ With thick fingers he procured a letter from his pocket.

Frowning slightly, Jack looked as the man pushed the envelope beneath the table and onto Jack’s lap. The stranger made no effort of pulling back, his warm hand remaining comfortably on Jack’s thigh.

‘Quite a surprise hmm, _Pumpkin_?’ The man winked through his heavy Italian-french accent.

Jack blinked. _What? Who was this man? Did this have to do with Jacques..?_ With a hasty prying of fingers he retrieved the letter from the man’s hand. The man slowly turned on his seat and ogled Jack with just a tad too much fascination. On the letter there was a single notation. “To my love”

‘I’m sorry. No, I think you’ve–’ Jack was about to shake his head when the two of them were interrupted. The woman who had just gone into the bathroom had walked back into the bistro, blue eyes furious as she looked at both men.

‘What is this?! THERE’S TWO OF YOU?!’

The stranger huffed in displeasure. ‘Good lady! Think of your language!’

The woman’s thin dark eyebrows furrowed and with a fell sweep she procured a letter from her breast pocket. Pink. Swirly handwriting signed: “To my love”. With a disgusted fling she thrust the letter on the table. ‘I thought I was clear to Madame Tirubeau! No funny business. No no.. no!’ Her voice broke slightly as she stormed out of the café in a flurry of skirts.

Jack blinked again. There was an awkward silence in the room as the waitress hesitantly stood at the ready with freshly brewed coffee and water on her tray. ‘I-I can come back later.’ She gulped, but the strange man waved it away.

‘No no. Don’t worry sweet bird. It was nothing.’ With a cooing sound the stranger teased her to come closer. Like a male pigeon calls for its mate. She sniffled and carefully placed the two drinks before the men.

‘Anything else?’ She blushed as the stranger tilted his head.

‘An answer would be nice.’ The woman frowned, but the stranger had apparently meant these words for Jack, his head continuing to tilt before finally moving his eyes back to Jack. Jack couldn’t hide his confusion.

‘An answer?’

‘Why you and I are settled here at this table of course!’ The stranger amicably clapped a hand on Jack’s shoulder, clarifying it was just a joke. _Or was it?_ With half an eye, Jack looked at the letter that still lay unopened before him on the table. “For my love”.

‘It looks like your lady love wasn’t quite so smitten.’ Jack tried.

‘Ladies.’ The stranger grinned and shot another curious, near challenging look at Jack. ‘What do they know, hmm?’ The stranger looked as the waitress quietly returned to her safe haven behind the bar.

‘Indeed..’ Jack looked down the stranger’s physique as he ogled the waitress. _Who was this weird fella? And why didn’t he go after the woman who just rushed off? Was this a one of Jacques’ tests? That would be quite the thing wouldn’t it?_

‘Now. Looks like I better get back to Madame Tirubeau to get this lovely mix-up settled. Allow me to catch your bill.’ The stranger raised from his seat, leaving his water untouched, and put a 50-bill on the table without question. ‘Oh, and this,’ The stranger retrieved a card from another pocket and exchanged it with the love letter which disappeared back in his pocket. ‘In case you wish to meet again.’

Without managing even a single question, Jack was offered a hand to shake and gone was the stranger. Out and about before Jack could work through what had just happened. Had that man just flirted with him? With half a frown he looked at the gold lettered card on the table. Luigi L.S.I. Maniari. _Luigi._

–

Big’s burning gaze made Jack swallow. With Girl and Number One gone, the dining room had become eerily quiet.

‘You think you’re a charmer, English?’ The man spit something in his empty cup. _Tobacco perhaps?_

‘You think you can just walk in here. Fuck my sister. Fuck my mom even. Ha! I see you looking at them.’ In a split-second the wide shouldered Maniari was hovering mere inches before Jack’s face, taking him in with the dirtiest snarl on his face. ‘I know your kind. You think you clever?’ He started to ruckle up some more spit, but Luigi intervened; a bored hand pushed straight into Big’s face.

‘Careful before he fucks you too, Biggybig.’

‘You cock–pfft–cocksucker!’

‘Basta!’ Luigi raised up from his chair as well and shoved Big back. ‘How about you focus that energy on finding back our brother hmm?’

Big frowned and slowly moved his gaze between Luigi and Jack. ‘Like you care if he returns.’ He said finally, testingly. Luigi just rolled his eyes and gestured at Jack to follow him upstairs.

‘Don’t mind him.’ Luigi offered, placing a hand on Jack’s lower back as they moved up the wide winding staircase. And Luigi wouldn’t be Luigi if that hand didn’t move an inch as they climbed the polished to perfection marble steps. Jack decided not to make a fuss.

‘So what do you think happened to Alfi?’

‘Alfi? Oh, knowing him he finally decided that he was too smart for this family and ran off.’

‘So you don’t think something happened?’

‘Do you think I think nothing of his disappearance?’ Luigi removed his hand from Jack’s back to press it into his chubby chest with shock. ‘Me? You know me Jack. Family before all!’

They arrived on the first floor, where both their rooms were at either end of the long hallway.

‘May we find him soon then.’ Jack wished to offer a hand to shake, but Luigi had already coddled him in a hug.

‘It is good to have you here..’ He leaned back just a little, glittering eyes traveling over Jack’s face. ‘truly.’

‘Thank you..’ Jack cleared his throat and released himself from Luigi’s tight grip. ‘It is quite a family you have.’

Luigi chuckled. ‘Blood of my blood, they are a bunch aren’t they? Good night, English.’

‘Good night Luigi.’ Jack walked away, but Luigi remained. And perhaps there had been a touch of sadness in Luigi’s words, but this was not the time for Jack to wonder. It was time to get to work.

–

The day had seemed endless with its tiresomely long investigative conversations with witnesses, locals and so on. As of yet the missing jewelry of Lucia’s friend had not been found, but everyone in the neighbourhood had at least heard or thought something of the theft. Parisians, though disliking of foreigners, were eager to have their say in Jack’s investigation. So far, he was none the wiser what had happened.

Looking at the dial of the elevator crawl up a number every few seconds, he couldn’t wait to hit the hay. And he just hoped that Lucia was out, or at least not in the mood for something other than sleeping. With a final ding the elevator came to a halt. It was only now Jack paid attention to the lift boy. Tight in red uniform and with his head reverently tilted downwards, Jack thanked him with a bit of pocket change and a warm smile. _We all have to make a living in this world somehow._

‘Lucia!’

The quiet penthouse didn’t answer back. With a sharp tug at his tie, Jack sauntered through the hallway. His feet were dragging and if it weren’t for the lure of light in the living room, he might have just fallen asleep right here on the reception sofa.

Had she fallen asleep already? Or did she simply not switch of the lights? Throwing his tie over a chair, he turned the corner and entered the mutely lit living space. Everything here was shadows of gold and beige, but the first thing Jack caught onto was a foot. Silky toes poking out over the arm rest, near provoking for a touch.

‘Lucia?’ He asked quietly, but the foot didn’t move. Sighing, he unbuttoned his jacket and walked around the couch. ‘Fallen asleep have –’

Fuck.

Wide eyes and a foaming mouth stared back at him, one limp arm hanging to the floor, skin pale. In just that one moment, everything shifted. It felt like the world spun, but Jack remained. His stomach got sick and his body froze. But no matter how he tried, he couldn’t move. He just stared back at her. His beautiful, headstrong muse with her tickling laugh. She stared at him like she saw a ghost. A ghost she once loved. Or perhaps still did. Was there an afterlife? Jack had never cared to truly wonder, despite his religious upbringing.

Returning to some state of being, he blinked. Blood started to boil in his veins and all tiredness had left him. Instead he felt anger and confusion. What had happened? Had someone done this? Why? How? When? With a racing heart and eager eyes he started to take note of all details in the room. The burned out cigarette buds, the half emptied liquor glass, the smouldering fire behind him.

It took a few more moments before he realized the thing she had truly been staring at in the last seconds of her long life. A picture frame, the picture old and slightly faded. In it beamed a young Lucia in her wedding gown, smitten eyes looking up at a stern faced man. Her husband, Jack knew. And though it pained him that she had probably thought of him last, perhaps it had been for the best.

Sinking down to his knees, Jack brushed a hand over her cheek. Wrinkly, old and terribly cold, this was all that was left of her. And though they had been a most unlikely pair for the past couple of years, he wouldn’t have traded it for the world. _Dear Lucia,_ he smiled. _You firecracking woman. Wicked witchy mistress of mine. Look at what the world has done to us this time._

With a shivery breath he brushed down her neck, her collarbone, and then her hand. It was then he found it. Clutched between her fisted fingers. The napkin. Red like a bullfighter’s cape.

A clue.

–

One thing Jack learned from Jacques before his untimely demise, was that one must use method and mystery. Method to solve mysteries. And mysteries to prevent others from discovering your findings. And though it probably could be solved, Jacques’ trusted method was still Jack’s preferred method of note making. The system was simple. Don’t write essential things down so they can easily be traced back. Don’t use people’s names, don’t describe exact colours, dates or times and never note any details about exact situations.

Jacques’ system described people with bodyparts. A curious man became the nose. A cheating wife: the lips. Colours were described as gemstones. Times through sundials. And so on.

Sitting in his room in the Maniari mansion, Jack looked at the virgin white paper in his new notebook. What would he make of his findings so far? Who could be the culprit? And who were just pawns? At this point he couldn’t be sure. Augusto was labile, the signora had likely been drunk, high or both. And their children all had a whole scala of motives and shifty behavioral inclinations. Time would tell, but for now; the red napkin had been signaled. It had nearly been too easy. With a raised brow he noted down “Ruby signaled”, followed by a small dash.

For a moment he hesitated. Naming people was somehow always the hardest part. What would be give Augusto? Brows perhaps? He sure had a bushy pair that he never had seen a parallel to. But no. For a split-second Jack remembered Lucia there on that couch. Those empty grey eyes staring straight through him. And as the chills ran up his spine and it became clear how deep in the den of the lion he was, he jotted down:

Eye.

 **Bull’s eye.**


End file.
